A Stray Woman
by vickevire
Summary: Sands and a woman, but no plot, no El. A couple of vignettes, involving the same people. Angst, romance and a bit of sex. ...but, black romance, not pink. That four letter word doesn't know how to enter my fics.
1. Intrigued

Each chapter is a vignette. The degree of cursings, violence and sex variates. Only two persons: the Stray Woman and _Sands._

Disclaimer: The Stray Woman is mine. I would hate if anyone used her and changed her the way I've done with Sands! ...or maybe I would love it... who knows ;-)

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A Stray Woman 

**Intrigued**

Through the spiralling pain Sands suddenly realized someone was near. He felt the presence looming there, the moment stretching out to eternity - or was it only a few seconds?

Then slow, soft steps toward him, coming inexorably closer, too close, bringing the smell of burnt hair, blood and powder. Sands had to fight for each painful breath, and he felt a burning anger, a burning fear, while all he could do was cling to his awareness, and struggle to keep the black infinity at bay.

A low, dull, female voice said, "Hi." Fingers brushed away the stray strands of hair, sweat-plastered to his face. Even that soft a touch sent a bolt of pain through his head, making him gasp. The hand hovered close to his face, hesitating, before it lowered his sunglasses. He tried to gauge her reaction, but he could only hear distant gunfire and discordant ringing from afar; she was all silence, black and numb. A force of stillness, making time stretch - stretch - and then finally he heard her take a deeper breath, and the tension eased as it turned into a sob. She leaned her body close to his while she wrapped her arms around his waist, her face inches from his, and her voice husky "Come with me."

Sands feebly tried to pull away, but she silenced him by putting her lips to his. He could feel wet salt from tears, and a warm gentleness, scorching him. Suddenly going limp, she broke the kiss with a whisper, languid and enveloped in tiredness, but still insistent: "I'll help you. Come."

When she stepped back, her intruding warmth was replaced with stifling hot dust, and - she left. Panic turned his bones to fragile ice and joined the spiral of spinning pain. Something tearing, he couldn't make out what the noise was. Back, she was coming back. Close again, but everything was still spinning, spinning faster. Too much, it was too much, a circle, a vortex of pain, pressing into his leg - searing - electrifying -

Red, using the forgotten banners, deftly wrapped and tied the gunshot wounds, then gently laying the beautiful, bleaching gringo on a large dusty flag, she dragged him to the nearest car, hauled him into the backseat - unconsciousness was one of God's greatest gifts - and drove off. 


	2. Disturbed

A Stray Woman

**Disturbed**

It was more midday than morning, the sun slowly increasing in strength, blazing down merciless. Red plunged herself into the sweltering haze, riding the bike like she was pusued. That way, the pain in her throat was only lack of water, and the itching in her skin was only sweat breaking out and trickling down.

Sands heard the bike arrive at excessive speed, the wheels as – probably – Red made an abrupt stop. He relaxed more when the steps came closer, comforting him with their familiarity. The door opened, stirring the air when she slammed it shut again. A basket of groceries hit the floor, and the next thud was Red falling back against the door. "Oh fuck," she wheezed, breathing so heavy she could barely speak. Somehow she managed to continue with a strained chant, desperate and pleading, "Oh God, oh fuck, oh God, oh... fuck-fuck-fuck."

Her frantic chanting filled him with unease - Sands cut off the thought, but it didn't go away. Instead it spread through him like something rotten and foul, making his voice so dry his words came out as dust. "That explains a lot."

"Nothing to worry about," Red panted, "It's just a private freak-out." She grabbed the basket and heeaded to the kitchen, disturbing the house with her hyper-anxiety, banging and clattering and crashing everyting into its proper places. She gulped down water and splashed her face, then came back and wrestled off some clothes.

"You know," Red cast a rapid glance at Sands, sitting in the center of his bed, making a discordant picture; his slackness was like a coat, not able to disguise that he was wary- radiating restless energy. This meant trouble. Trouble, trapping, tangling, trashing toll- and she just couldn't concentrate. "I don't care about your mood," she announced, her tone shrill, and started to pace. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck those prissy fuckers! How can people be so cold in Mexico?" She walked round and round, striding, pacing, panicking.

"God! I need-"

Sands could almost feel his ears turning pointy, trying to read her movements, but the stupid teaser halted and her breathing steadied.

"You'll have to do."

"What?" His intense concentration shattered.

"I want some comfort. You're the only available source."

When Sands smirked, she carried on, "I can tell you're not ...happy. You can't stand me, can you?" The sounds she made didn't make sense. Was she climbing onto the the chest of drawers?

"Oh honey, don't beat yourself up about that. Your boobs aren't big enough, otherwise... You're just adorable."

"If it wasn't pointless, I would be flipping you the finger." There was almost warmth in her voice, but it turned feverish as she continued, "You know what I'm doing now? I'm getting your gun. I need to calm down and I don't give a fuck what you feel. Of course you don't like me, you're in my hands. And don't think for a second that I don't know how dangerous you are."

A force seethed in Sands, hot, dark, comforting. Red took a deep breath. It didn't satisfy her though; when she spoke, she still felt sore and empty. "I'm starved."

Something intense woke and rose, forcing its way out through her contracted throat."I need ...closeness." Then she stilled, letting everything subside into silence. When she finally spoke, she was hard and matter-of-fact.

"I want you to hold me, and I want to pretend I'm safe." The sound of the safety catch cracked the air. "Lay down on the bed."

Sands hesitated, immobile. Why couldn't the damned woman be consistent? The air started to quiver again, tension building, until Red snapped, "I'm coming to pieces here!"

Her frantic energy was back. Not good. Not good, not good, not good.

"Lay dow- not on you back! One your side. Face me!"

Sands was burning. Red was sweaty heat, plastered to him, face buried against his throat, and there was no way she was getting away with this. He mouthed it in her hair.

"No. Fucking. Way."

Her presence was a force, hard, bristling, accompanied by the pressure of a cold muzzle digging into the back of his head, while her other arm snaked under his armpit. Slowly she calmed, and started to soften - except for the hand holding the gun. Bad sign, but fuck – may God screw him if he didn't find a way to take advantage of this.

He listened to her breathing, counting to a hundred and one. Well, ending at a hundred and one... a teensy bit of cheating did him good. Then -

Slowly, slowly, fingers skating small circles.

Her skin was still clammy, and her hair was damp from sweat ...a sweet scent, mingled with dust. He nudged a bit, hips closer,tiny, tiny movements still not a reaction still those slow deep-

"I do have some issues." It was a soft tickle by his throat.

"No shit."

"Yeah," Sands' drawl made her smile, contradicting her next words, when she said, drowsy, but still serious, "You better slow down those hands, amigo."

"Oh yeah? Well, sweetheart…" A hand drifted lower. "I'm thinking this is rather nice."

Red propped herself up on one elbow (the other arm still pressed his own fucking gun against his own fucking head) and just looked at him. Her gaze felt heavy; it made his face itch and his body tense. She let out a soft sound of compassion, but it reached his ears as acid. It infuriated him, making him seethe with anger, before it turned to poison in his blood. That enabled him to give Red his sweetest smile (own standards, of course), while he let his hands intrude, roaming over her.

Red jolted fully awake, slamming Sands down onto his back, the gun now hard against his temple.  
"Stop it!" she hissed, but Sands' smirk only widened, so she drove her knee into his groin, driving the breath out of him, shutting him down.

She slumped against him, breath ragged in his face. "Stop it," she repeated, her voice low, raw. "You..." her head bent forward, grazing his forehead. "Fuckass..."

There was no anger in her words, just desolation. She rolled away, putting a safe distance between them.

"I'm... can't-" She moved further away, flipping the safety back on. "I feel empathy. Get used to it." 


	3. Explaining a Name

A Stray Woman

**Explaining a Name**

"So if we get separated I ask for a red-headed gringa?" Sands sat cross legged on his bed, Red was in front of the mirror, fussing with a scarf.

"I haven't got red hair" she said distantly.

"Then" Sands paused to lick, gluing a cigarette "why-the-fuck are you called Red?" Annoyed and grumpy, he put it away and begun to roll another one. Even if he couldn't actually smoke indoors, he sure as hell would busy himself with cigarettes.

Red obviously didn't give a fuck about him, obsessed with... "Did I just destroy myself? In you mind?" ...herself, exactly.

Sands put his new cigarette between his lips and pretended his inhale filled him with lovely poisonous gas. May the tyrannifuckical Nazi daughter burn. "Can't you dye it red?"

"Don't tempt me. It took me years to regain my natural color. You know, when you start t-"

"I'm not interested."

"Okay, okay." She sighted. "You don't need to describe me. Just ask for 'Red; the gringa' and everyone will know who you mean."

"Why don't you tell me what you look like?"

"I enjoy the power."

Sands tried to scorch her with a black glare. He really tried. To his amazement it seemed to work, because Red spoke and actually told him something. "Somehow, it's nice. The less you know... it's free. Appearance is so trapping." She made a conclusion, "It feels fresh being around you. I'm blank, and unknown and new."

It would be nice to stuff down all his cigarettes in her throat, lighted, and watch her choke to death.

Watch. Sands stabbed his unused cigarette till it broke. Red had turned transparent, was watching him, and he couldn't feel her. Only the time. It twisted and lingered and ate at him, till he had to speak. "I don't like unknown areas."

Red walked over to Sands bed and sat down beside him, leaning back against the wall, just as he did. Near but not close, nothing touched. "Of course you don't" she whispered, not comfortingly; she was bleak, talking to herself.

Sands was cold, and the silence started to twitch, creeping up along Red's back. "I have brown hair. My eyes are grey. Not ordinary." She shifted "More dark. Like oily, poisonous smoke. Eh..." This road was too steep; Red constantly fell back. "Yeah."

Sands took benefit. "Very interesting. Why are you called Red?"

A nice long fine murderous silence.

"It was my own doing, I guess. Not that I told people to call me Red, but... it was fitting. So, I responded to it." she searched for something to follow, but found herself in a dead-end, once again.

"Go on."

Red didn't feel comfortable. She suddenly moved off the bed, reacting with her spine. Sands arm flew after her, but not quick enough. His hand dropped, and then his head tilted back, face hard, blank, lean, merging with the black sunglasses.

With this healthy space between them, Red could finally find her bearings. "It's such a silly thing. I can't tell you in this strained- it's wrong atmosphere."

Sands was waiting.

"Fine." Red gritted. "I use red lipstick. All the time."

Sands just quirked an eyebrow, and Red burst out, laughing, easing.

"It's kinda morbid really, red is for dim lit nights" she pulled off her red lipstick's lid, applying while she spoke "not for bright broad daylight." She smacked, similing madly, "Lets go!"


	4. at Home

A Stray Woman

**At Home**

"Once in this cottage there lived a man. His wife was dead, but he still had a small girl and a little, little boy. Even his old mother shared the house."

"Was this man good looking?" Sands voice was laid-back, gleaming with amusement. Red turned away from the sun and squinted at the man in the shadow, all colors faded by the bright light. She settled back into the sunny heat while her thoughts got caught in a current, drifting backward.

When she returned, the answer was quiet and somber. "Yes, he was." She continued with more light. "He was a Mexican, you know? Brown hair, eyes like –eyes of chocolate." The warmth in the last word was fusing with the air. "A bit short, of course, but with my bed kinks-" she paused, teasingly "-that's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Oh please, spare me your sleazy perversations."

"Sure." Red rolled over to her belly, dark eyes glittering at Sands.

He smoked. One – Two – lightening his third cigarette, he asked "Don't you have any social manners, Red?" Exhaling a cloud, "'Spare me' means fill my sick brain with all greasy details, or I'll bite off your fucking clitoris." Sulking, "When we finally fornicate."

"Uh um" Red's dry throat woke a wicked grin, shining in Sands face. "Is that supposed to ensure that you'll never go down on me?"

"Oh common" Sands leaned forward, with an innocent, eager smile, "perve me, perve me, perve me."


	5. Elicitation

This is an alternate evolving of their relationship ...enjoy.

Oh, and; disclaimer: Sands... is... someone else's.

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A Stray Woman 

**Elicitation **

When Red opened the door she found Sands perching on the drawer, gently swinging his legs. She halted in surprise, and smirked. "Found anything interesting?"

---

Sands had walked to the drawer, located five steps slightly diagonally left, crossing the highway rug between kitchen and bathroom, starting from the base (aka bed). He was right, the drawer had materialized under is hands. He brushed around it, measuring. Too high, too small. This would be awkward. He heaved himself up from one of the sides, scrabbled and clung till he stood on his four, panting, leaning his side against the wall. How to continue? The endless emptiness intruded, but he still straighted his back, standing only on his knees, fingers scratching at the rough wooden wall. He eased forward so he could rocked back and move till he had his feet under him, slowly turning and pressing his back against the wall. Then he pushed upward with shaky legs, one hand above his head. He knew the room had to be spacey from the acoustic, so he wasn't much surprised when he didn't reach the roof. He lowered his hand and exclaimed "Fuck!" when he smacked his elbow into something hard. A beam, apparently. He avidly searched it, but found nothing. He searched for another beam, but nothing, again. Ah, fuck it. He sank down, mind blank, and waited for Red.

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"I want a smoke." Red halted and he sensed her steady gaze, the examination. Then she made an affirming sound and went for a chair. She placed it with a thud below his feet. It was hard to keep everything blank and still. Something was straining, fuck leashes; he opened his mouth. "I hurt my elbow."

He could feel her discard several answers, she settled for a simple "You did?" and, carefully not thinking, not thinking at all, mind perfectly balanced and still, she gingerly brushed his hand, saying "This one?" with a throat dry from anticipation. The only thing filling Red's head was the echo of her beating heart, speeding, quickening, dizzying her head. She knew what - but, oh - blankness, blankness. Sands was clenching his other hand, hard, but left his right slack, nodding slowly. Red traced fingers along his arm, swelling his ache, he could feel it trying to press out from his pores, since he insisted on keeping his mouth shut. They breathed together, and then, when Red put a hand on his tight, Sands dropped his head back, writhing, and Red was clenching, pulling, dragging him off, down, close. The chair tilted to the floor, banging, as his quick breath spun her head; with a spasm she charged, pressing into Sands, pressing him back, pulling in his hair, crashing into his lips with a blistering kiss, making his mind endless. Everything was weighting down, and Sands just opened his mouth, easing when her heat gushed through.

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A moan escaped him, all his senses overwhelmed by Red, compliant and open to every intrusion. She kept kissing his neck and Sands shuddered into her hot body, burying his face in her hair, writing, moaning, aching helplessly.

...fuck restrains.

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Have you read all the chapters? Did you (dis)like it? ...okay... fuck restrains... I'm letting go of diginity...

REVIEW! _Please. _Feedback, feedback, feedback, plz gimme a response, review, review, review, review, plzplzplzplzplzplzplzplz! Gimme, gimme, gimme!

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